bless this rain
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: As the war ends, the rain falls on the old woman and the dead dragon.


Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank always went to bed early and rose early. The morning of 2 May, 1998 was no exception to this rule. She awoke as the sun was creeping into the sky, bathing everything in a gentle light, put on her dressing gown and headed out of her small bedroom into her even smaller kitchen, where she placed a kettle on the stove, lit her pipe and turned on the wireless.

She had taken to stealing herself every day before she did this – the news was usually so awful these days that she had to take a moment to prepare herself for the highly likely event that a friend or acquaintance might be among those listed as dead or missing. But nothing – _nothing _– could have prepared her for the news she heard that morning.

Her pipe clattered to the floor and she nearly joined it there, swaying alarmingly and clutching hold of the sink to stop herself from falling. It was over. They had _won_.

* * *

Hogwarts was – understandably – in chaos when she arrived. After depositing her meagre medical supplies with Poppy Pomfrey (she had heard a plea for anything that could be spared on the wireless), she went in search of someone she knew, to find out what she could do to help. She felt guilty – terribly so. She had been too old to have been any use in the Order of the Phoenix, but if she had received the call to fight at Hogwarts, she would have gone. But, as was her want, she had gone to bed early after a mug of cocoa the previous night, and had missed out on the battle entirely. She was prepared to do anything she could to help now.

The first person she saw that she recognised was Charlie Weasley – and she barely recognised him. One arm was bandaged, his torn shirt was covered in blood (whether his or someone else's, she did not know) and he was walking with a limp. "Charlie!" she called.

"Professor," he acknowledged, hobbling over to her. "I need your help." This was what she had wanted to hear. "There's this dragon..."

* * *

She soared over the Lake District on a Thestral, searching out the dragon Charlie had told about. ("I'd go myself, but...I have to stay with my family," he'd said, his expression darkening. She hadn't enquired further.) It probably wouldn't be too hard a task – she could see the trail of destruction it had left from the air.

She whistled through her teeth. The Ministry's Obliviators were going to have a task and a half on their hands, given the amount of burning buildings and screaming Muggles present in a village down on her left.

"Woah! Down boy," she called suddenly, spying the scaly mass that could only be a dragon far below her. The Thestral landed, and she patted him in thanks. Slowly, carefully, she made her way over to the dragon, taking careful not to startle it. She didn't want to hurt it any more than he had clearly already been hurt. Her heart constricted, seeing its bony body, broken wings, and damaged scales.

"Hello there," she said quietly. The dragon barely stirred. It wasn't until she was inches from her its nose – where, with any other dragon, she would have been killed long before she got anywhere near that close – that it gave a half-hearted attempt at breathing fire. It sounded more like asthmatic wheezing.

Wilhelmina sighed. This dragon was too old and damaged to be saved. It couldn't offer any more (like her). There was only one thing – one _fair_ thing – that could be done. She raised her wand and whispered the two words.

* * *

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting next to the dragon – now finally at peace – watching the Thestral chewing on the grass and waiting for someone from the Ministry to arrive to get rid of its corpse. She'd sent a Patronus and had got an acknowledgement of the situation, but, understandably, no one had been along to deal with the situation just yet. They had bigger things to deal with than an old woman and a dead dragon.

She felt very old, and terribly tired. It didn't seem real that the war was over, and she felt a strange sense of removal from it all. She _was_ removed from it all. As she sat, pondering this, the rain began to fall – just one or two drops at first, then heavier, like it was trying to wash everything away.

Wilhelmina sighed. The sigh almost sounded like _thank you, rain_.

But not quite.

* * *

**For Ralinde's Bingo Card Drabble Challenge with character 27 - Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Not someone I'd given a lot of thought to before now, but fun to write nonetheless! Disclaimer: As ever, not mine.**


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